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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714591">In The Earth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea'>Neyiea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Because of Reasons, Episode: s04e20 That Old Corpse, Jeremiah is going to regret so many things, M/M, Making Out, Resurrection, in a grave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:09:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What were the autopsy results, Lucius?”</p>
<p>“Dead when he came in, more dead when he was eviscerated and his brain was sliced up.”</p>
<p>But that only delayed the inevitable. Jerome Valeska begins to stir. Jerome Valeska wakes up. Jerome Valeska has Bruce Wayne right. On. Top. Of. Him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In The Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Neyiea why would you do this, you may ask yourselves.<br/>1) Re-watching the end of season 4 is causing me to experience <i>emotions.</i><br/>2) Conversations with friends spur me on like nothing else.<br/>3) I am very determined to <i>one day</i> get Valeyne into the top 10 relationships filter so that means I gotta write more one-shots.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death is, once again, dull and dark and absolutely boring. </p>
<p>Death is, once again, more fleeting than people would expect it to be. </p>
<p>A corpse that had still been a corpse when it was dug up from the earth last night is settled against a headstone, placed there to be a tool to drive Jeremiah Valeska mad as per Jerome’s falsified last planned act of chaos. Time passes, a scuffle happens, and the sound of a gunshot sparks something in the slowly healing temporal lobe like a signal to wake up.</p>
<p>In the depths of a chest a cold heart weakly contracts. </p>
<p>The lungs expand a fraction and a shallow breath of air is inhaled as a result. </p>
<p>Fingers twitch, unseen.</p>
<p>The body may not be quite completely whole or healed, but it is no longer a corpse by the time it is kicked back into its’ grave. </p>
<p>Unable, yet, to process pain—unable to process anything—Jerome doesn’t react as he hits the freshly dug earth. He doesn’t react to the conversation happening above him. He doesn’t react to a new weight colliding against him. He may be breathing again, but he’s catatonic. </p>
<p>Oxygen is drawn into the body, is drawn into the blood, is diffused by the pumping of a newly beating heart. Necrotic tissue is suddenly flooded with it. Vital organs begin to regenerate, the process quicker now with the slow but steady flow from arteries to capillaries to veins and back to the heart. Oxygen is inhaled, carbon dioxide is exhaled. Jerome’s eyes begin to roll behind his closed lids.</p>
<p>He becomes aware, slowly, of the smell of the earth. He becomes aware, slowly, of the aching of his body—though he’s been healing at a glacial pace for weeks multiple hairline fractures still litter his bones, his skeleton originally kept together after his fall only by the muscle surrounding it. He becomes aware, slowly, that he is not plummeting through the air cackling; he is grounded with something solid underneath him.</p>
<p>And there is something solid over him. </p>
<p>His eyes open, and at first all he can see is white. Even the dim light of the cloudy day is too much for eyes that had up until recently been sealed away in a lightless environment. Colour gradually returns to his vision, the blurry view of dirt becomes sharper. There is earth below him, but what is on top of him?</p>
<p>He turns his head, the movement slow to start as if his joints are rusted over.</p>
<p>He sees a dark head of hair.</p>
<p>Who is on top of him?</p>
<p>He moves, and the body over him begins to shift to the side, though it doesn’t go far due to the close confines of the pit that they’re in—a grave, Jerome distantly thinks, whose grave? My grave?—and Jerome twists to get a look at their face. </p>
<p>His eyes briefly go wide. Then his lips stretch into a smile for the first time in too long.</p>
<p>You and I together again, he thinks as he takes in the sight of Bruce Wayne laid out alongside him, as he watches the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s chest. Couldn’t bear to be parted from me? Wanted to be buried alive with me?</p>
<p>Unlikely, but Jerome can dream.</p>
<p>He moves again, he licks his lips, he opens his mouth.</p>
<p>The name gets stuck in his throat and he coughs. He tries again.</p>
<p>“—uce.” It’s barely more than a hiss of air, but it’s something. “—ruce.”</p>
<p>He sits up, vigilant eyes taking in the position of Bruce’s body, the way his legs have settled upright against the wall of dirt surrounding them. Pushed inside instead of laid inside. Jerome glances up to the headstone and confirms what he’d already thought. This is his grave, and Bruce is inside of it with him. </p>
<p>Like some sort of welcome back to the land of the living <i>gift</i> for Jerome to enjoy. </p>
<p>He rises to his knees and he settles over Bruce, the space is too cramped for anything else and he couldn’t possibly leave before Bruce opens his eyes and sees that Jerome has, once again, been resurrected. Below him Bruce doesn’t stir, and Jerome gently pats a hand against his cheek several times. When that does nothing he slaps him across the face, but Bruce’s head merely rolls to the side without a reaction. </p>
<p>“—ake up,” he demands roughly, eyes flittering over Bruce for any injuries that he might have missed. He threads a hand into Bruce’s hair to drag against his skull, searching for bumps, and after a few seconds his fingers graze across a tender spot that causes Bruce’s eyelids to flicker. Jerome insistently pets at the area in a way that must be uncomfortable, even if the touch is soft.</p>
<p>Someone’s been real mean to you, Jerome thinks as he watches Bruce’s expression twist with discomfort. Knocking you out and throwing you into a grave with a corpse. It’s enough to give a man ideas.</p>
<p>“Bruce, wake up.” His hand draws back and digs into Bruce’s coat. If he thought it would help he’d shake him a little, but instead he just makes a fist and clings. “Wake up!”</p>
<p>Still, Bruce doesn’t stir. Jerome begins to entertain the idea of playing the part of Prince Charming awakening his Sleeping Beauty—wouldn’t that be a shocking way to come to? Jerome’s cool, rough lips on Bruce’s own and his cool, dry tongue in Bruce’s mouth—when, at long last, Bruce’s eyes flutter open, just a crack, before closing again.</p>
<p>Jerome’s breath catches for a moment, then his fist clenches a little tighter into Bruce’s coat.</p>
<p>Come on, he urges silently, come on, come on. </p>
<p>Bruce’s eyes open again and this time—finally—his gaze lands on Jerome. His eyes are unfocussed at first, still dazed from whatever hit had rendered him unconscious in the first place, but Jerome can see the moment when his current situation begins to sink in. </p>
<p>Bruce’s eyes go wide, staring up at him in shock.</p>
<p>Jerome feels his grin spread wider. </p>
<p>“Good morning, darlin’,” he croons. “Did you have a nice nap? I know I did.” He laughs roughly, expecting Bruce to start thrashing underneath him like a live wire.</p>
<p>Bruce continues to gaze up at him, as if he thinks Jerome might be some sort of terrible nightmare or a terrible hallucination. Jerome briefly wonders if he ought to slap him again to snap him out of it, but he can’t quite stand the thought of Bruce’s eyes turning away from him, even for a split second. </p>
<p>“Jerome,” he whispers, voice full of a peculiar wonder that Jerome finds himself charmed by, and his hands lift upwards far too slowly to be meant as an attack. Jerome watches the progress, curious and not fully understanding Bruce’s intent until his fingers begin to gently slide over Jerome’s face. Jerome cannot stop himself from leaning into the contact like a touch-starved cat. “This is a dream,” Bruce says under his breath, eyes falling half-shut as he traces scar tissue in a way that makes Jerome’s skin tingle and heart flutter. “But I need to wake up again.” He closes his eyes and his hands fall away, folding over his chest.</p>
<p>Jerome bites back an incredulous laugh, feeling somewhat mystified.</p>
<p>Do you often dream about being underneath me, the question pops into his mind, but in the moment it seems much less critical to ask that than it is to keep his sleeping beauty awake. </p>
<p>He takes Bruce’s face between his hands and dives in for a kiss. It isn’t a soft, slow start; Bruce gasps in surprise as the reality of the situation finally washes over him like a wave and Jerome would be a fool not to take advantage. He deepens the kiss and he can feel Bruce scramble underneath him, legs kicking against the dirt wall, hands pushing against Jerome’s chest. He tries to speak, but when the opportunity presents itself Jerome sucks Bruce’s precious pink tongue into his dry, dark mouth. Bruce is warm and wet and alive, and kissing him feels like a revival. Jerome’s blood his rushing, his body is too flooded with endorphins for him to take notice of his many lingering aches, he’s excited and eager and he can’t help but sigh happily into the kiss, as if it’s something he’s been dreaming of for ages. </p>
<p>Below him Bruce shudders. His hands stop trying to push Jerome away and instead fist into his jacket to pull him closer. Bruce’s mouth drops open with a soft, kittenish whine and Jerome is determined to hear the sound of it again. </p>
<p>It’s so delightfully morbid, making out with a beautiful boy in his own grave as soon as he’s resurrected, his skin still grey and cool from his recent status as dead. Jerome wonders who he ought to thank for this as he pulls back to take Bruce’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough for Bruce to jolt.</p>
<p>He has questions—how long has it been this time, what’s happened in my absence, who threw you in here with me—but none of those seem quite as important as staring down at Bruce and watching his face as he comes to terms with what he’s just done, and where he’s done it, and who he’s done it with. </p>
<p>Not even the ashen cast of horror can take away the flush in his cheeks. </p>
<p>“Now that I know what sharing a grave with you is like I won’t be able to settle for anything else,” Jerome says before Bruce has a chance to recover. He doesn’t resist the urge to pet Bruce’s hair again, watching avidly as Bruce stares up at him as if he’s just as struck by Jerome as Jerome is struck by him. “Not even death will be able to part us, darlin’.”</p>
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